exploring our beliefs, living our values, changing our world

Posts tagged ‘Unitarian Universalist’

The Forgotten Virtue

There are a number of standard answers from all the variety of traditions within Unitarian Universalistism in regard to the number of individuals it takes to change a light bulb.

One tradition says that we should accept the light bulb as it is, another that we think the light bulb if it desires to change should change itself. One tradition calls for a quorum, which is 5 or 6 – wait, how many are in a quorum, and did we call Paul who is in charge of buildings and grounds . . . oh God, wait, no, hold on . . . never mind – what was I talking about?

Oh yes, as to light bulbs, my favorite response is:

We choose not to make a statement either in favor of or against the need for a light bulb. However, if, in your own journey, you have found that light bulbs work for you that is wonderful. You are invited to write a poem or compose a modern dance about your personal relationship with your light bulb. Present it next month at our annual Light Bulb Sunday Service, in which we will explore a number of light bulb traditions, including incandescent, fluorescent, 3-way, long-life, and tinted, all of which are equally valid paths to luminescence.

I remember when I first came to the UUCJ one member offered a new UU joke every week. This never offended me, it actually kept me coming back. In fact, the light bulb joke helped me decide I wanted to be a Unitarian Universalist. Being able to laugh at myself has always been important, I do many silly things, and though sometimes I am being serious when they happen, learning to laugh at them helps me realize not to take myself so seriously. I find I often take myself way too seriously, and most the arguments I get into are when I am doing that very thing.

Ken McLeod, Buddhist teacher, makes the point that we should be okay with laughing at ourselves while discussing beginning meditation. He states that one of the first things we learn is that our minds are never quiet, and we must learn to laugh at our Monkey Mind, always jumping from topic to topic, and never being still. He doesn’t call upon us to lament our inability to be light-hearted about it.

In the Hebrew Bible we read about the story of Isaac. Angels came to visit his parents before he was born. They said to Abraham, who was 100 years old, that his 90 year old wife, Sarah, would have a child in the next year. Sarah, over hearing this laughed, but the angles never condemned her lack of faith. Maybe they understood the silly notion of a 90 year old woman giving birth, and they probably also understood that her first 90 childless years had been very hard on her. The angels said, because she had laughed, she would now have to name him Isaac, to which the root word in Hebrew means laughter. Nine months later she never complained about naming her child Laughter, because now her laughing was not in derision but in joy.

The seven heavenly virtues go like this:

  • Chastity
  • Temperance
  • Charity
  • Diligence
  • Forgiveness
  • Kindness
  • Humility

Granted, we have not had the opportunity to discuss these in forum or during a board meeting because we don’t consider these words dogma, but they come from one of our sources. Of course, if we were to take these into conference, I would make a point on one very important forgotten virtue–humor. If humor was added, I would be alright with the Heavenly Virtues. It is important to have a good sense of humor, especially when we work so hard to do important things. As UU’s we are often working toward very lofty and difficult goals and we face a lot of discouragement. Sometimes we just need to have a good laugh.

Many times Jon Stewart has been accused of being too light-hearted about serious subjects–making jokes about important issues. To this, Jon Stewart generally reminds dissenters that he hosts a comedy show on a comedy network. He does take very important issues and relate them to us in a way in which we can laugh, but he has found this amazing middle ground where we can laugh, while at the same time look upon these topics seriously. That is the gift of comedy, the gift of humor.

Why don’t we take some time and give that gift to each other this week, either in the comments here or on the facebook page? Just remember to keep it positive and PG-13–after all, we are Unitarian Universalist–what would people think?

Love Letter to Mississippi

Dear Mississippi, how should I begin? As a Unitarian Universalist, I can only speak my own truth, which is informed by a deep relationship with the elements.

Water: In heavy rain, cats yowling, the lightning in the sky giving me a glimpse of the Chunky River’s churning. A sudden doom fell upon my shoulders: I was moving somewhere they would name a river Chunky without a trace of irony. Hot on the heels of a life-altering breakup, storm season in Mississippi was the perfect accompaniment to my unraveling. I moved here for love, a love lost 19 days before my entry to the state. I would stand in the rain or at the edge of the Reservoir howling, crying big fat tears, not yet realizing that I had freed myself.

A year later, the rains rolled in, and I was a different person: worn like riverstone, I stood in the deluge, trading kisses. While we adamantly told everyone we weren’t dating, we were slowly building a marriage.

 

Fire: I lived in Miami, where I would burn through long sleeve tee-shirts, I lived in the Dutch Oven of pollution that encapsulates Atlanta. Nothing prepared me for Mississippi’s summer swelter. I suddenly understood the concept of braising on a whole new level. I was able to truly appreciate my newfound friends’ investments in deep, covered porches. Fire: do any mosquitos burn quite like Mississippi?

Mississippi is where I took my anger and turned it into passion. I have always been outspoken, but Mississippi helped me to hone my candor into a useful tool. I have always been opinionated, but Mississippi made an advocate out of me. I had aways written, but Mississippi made a writer out of me.

I had carried so much anger within me, that proverbial hot stone, and in Mississippi,  the hottest part of the forge for so very many social struggles, I shaped that anger into an instrument for activism and growth.

 

Air: As a child, I would spread my arms wide and let the wind catch my whole body like a sail. I still do this. Everyone notices the wind in Mississippi: I think everyone holds deep gratitude for the breeze that slices through soupy August, just as we steel ourselves for the icy barrage that whips through January.

The lightning in Mississippi is superior to any other place I have seen: the way it splits the sky, that primal beauty, laden with wonder, awe, and fear. Unburdened by decades of old habits and reputations, I let the lightning split me, let the air move me, spiraling me deeper into my own self. I came to an accord with my intellect, embraced my nerdiness, and allowed the air to bear away the tatters of an old life long outlived.

 

Earth: I had grown plants, but never had a garden. I am still in no hurry: the trees in Mississippi are incredible. Jackson is an anomaly: after years of asphalt, limestone and pure red clay, to be able to have wild animals afoot, and sensory reassurance of happenstance nature around me in the middle of a city was overwhelming. During a nasty storm, a wild goose took refuge on my apartment porch: we weathered the storm together, he on one side of the glass, me on the other. I sighted a deer across the street from the mall. I have seen a living armadillo trundling alongside Pear Orchard Road.  In Fondren, there is a tomato plant that crawls out of a crack in the sidewalk each year, bearing fruit against all odds. I have seen a red-tailed hawk snatch a jay out of the sky, and a community of bluejays rise up to exact vengeance. All my life, I would listen to Stevie Nicks and sway: she made me feel like a gypsy, a stray cat. I wanted to be untethered, easy to transplant. I put down wide but shallow roots.

Suddenly, I had a home. When my love and I bought a house, we knew it was ours because of the massive grove of trees… the trees that bent nearly to the ground, but did not break in Katrina… but played dervishes in a tornado and dropped most of their branches in a large, interlocking spiral. We thought we had lost them, but in the end, their deep roots saved them. They taught me that we must be willing to root deeply and reach out to one another to have security; that others will shelter your broken, tender body with their own limbs.

 

Mother Mississippi is no doting mother. She exacts a hefty toll from each of us. The rivers… they go where they want. Tornadoes rake our land like animal claws. The sun is brutal, and Yazoo clay is a trickster spirit of its own. Let’s say Mother Mississippi challenges the concept of your ownership.

I have an elevator speech for the many people who ask me, “WHY MISSISSIPPI?”

I tell them i live on a dead volcano beside a living serpent of a river. I stay because of the black earth streaked with red clay and the blood of civil rights heroes; the impossible green of sweet potato vine; the fossilized epic log jam just outside the city; and the Ragnarok-levels of lightning breaking through the storm outside. Jackson, my slice of earth, is an elemental convergence.

But there is more. Mississippi is a great teacher. I stay because the heat reminds me to kindle my own blazing courage; I stay because the air reminds me to use my breath as fuel for the body and lasting change; I stay because the water reminds me that we ourselves are ever-changing, capable of changing course; and I stay because the earth reminds me that we who choose to stay are interwoven, inextricable… sovereign unto ourselves, but supported by so many.

Today is not Earth Day, but we celebrate it anyway. We can choose to celebrate it daily, to remind us we can make tiny changes in our lives to live more gently; that we can revel in the beauty even as we mourn the injustices done to our habitat and the souls of our neighbors; and that we can fall in love with a place that is prickly, harsh, and perhaps difficult to love…

It is a complicated relationship, and I cherish it.